


_Black Sheep

by glenarvon



Series: _Brilliancy [5]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Gen, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 01:51:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3272327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glenarvon/pseuds/glenarvon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.' Three episodes between 2002 and 2003.</p>
            </blockquote>





	_Black Sheep

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** Aiden Pearce is a vengeful arsehole.
> 
> **Recap:** Drago has been mentioned in Dogtown as the leader of the Dead Man Walking, the street gang Aiden was a member of. Tighe is briefly name-checked as a friend of Aiden's.

**March 2002_**

In the metallic-white light of the hospital, Kathleen Pearce looked carved from stone. After she had got up from the chair she had occupied while they had been waiting, she stood perfectly still, green gaze fixed on the doctor. She was taller than him, by a scant inch and raised a little higher on her heels. She looked back at the doctor until the man seemed to shrink in Nicole's perception. She still huddled in her own chair and felt as pale as the plastic she sat on. Her body ached as she sat up, only sluggishly following her orders.

The quiet beep and hiss of the machinery filled the background of the room, in perfect rhythm, but the longer Nicole listened to it, the more petrified she became, cold dread climbing up through her chest until she thought she would burst. She tried to blink it away, but it didn't work. When she opened her eyes again, she still saw her mother looking back at the doctor, holding herself like a statue.

The worst — by far the worst and there were some good contenders — was how well Nicole recalled the last time she had seen her mother face a doctor like that. Or a cop or a thug or a street worker, even the priest back in Belfast after she stopped going to church. It was like Kathleen could sheath herself in a layer of ice, impenetrable and in that state, there was no lie she could not tell, no truth that seemed capable to bent her knees.

Nicole realised she had zoned out at some point, the doctor's voice joining all the ticks and clicks of the machinery.

"…numerous inner lesions, broken ribs, but the lungs weren't punctured," the doctor said, glanced to the side. "I have no idea how he managed to have no other broken bones, sprained and cracked, but still keeping together. Some of the damage seems to be defensive, probably fought back and it didn't help." He looked back at Kathleen. "There's some damage to the spine and the hip bone. Head injuries are, well, with this type of injury the best we can do is wait for the swelling to go down and…"

Kathleen watched him. "And see how much of him is still there," she said, bare of any inflection.

The doctor took a moment to hide his surprise at her candid words. "If you will. Like I said, it's impossible to predict. But the prognosis is good otherwise. He's in good physical condition, young, nothing that won't heal."

He looked around again, his attention lingering on Nicole for a minute, pensively, before he looked back at Kathleen. "There's a police officer outside. Obviously, she isn't going to talk to your son today, or next week, but she wants to ask you a few question. This kind of escalation is rare, even for a gang hit, but it's still the most likely explanation. Does your son have any gang connections?"

Kathleen glanced away from the doctor and over Aiden's prone form. "I wouldn't know," she said. "I haven't seen him since Christmas."

"He cut his ties," Nicole interjected, somewhat sourly and more to her mother than the doctor.

She couldn't see her mother's face and the doctor merely nodded.

"I can tell the officer to come back later, if now is not a good time," the doctor offered.

"No, it's fine," Kathleen said. "Tell her to wait a minute, then we can talk."

The doctor nodded, "Of course. If there's something else you need, don't hesitate."

Another pause, he fidgeted again. "Someone will come and talk to you about the bill, but there's some time for that, too."

"Thank you," Kathleen said and she might as well have been a queen dismissing a minion.

The doctor dropped a few more gently encouraging words before he left. As the door gaped open, Nicole spotted the police uniform in the hallway outside, just the colours, too brief to make out a face at all.

When the doctor was gone, Kathleen slowly turned toward the bed and she seemed thoughtful as she regarded her son, emotions coming and going on her face that Nicole didn't have names for. She couldn't…

She couldn't _look_ , Nicole thought, she had avoided it for what felt like hours, just listening to the machines, the artificial breathing, the feeble assurance that her brother was still alive. Of course she had _seen_ him when she came in, but she'd avoided it after that. But because Kathleen was looking, she had to share in it.

"What happened?" she asked and it was such a stupid question, she would have cringed, if she could spare the energy.

"You heard what the doctor said," Kathleen said in the same voice she had used with the doctor. "A gang hit."

Nicole bit her lip before she said something she knew she'd regret later. It was the same voice and the same acid Kathleen had employed against her husband back in Belfast, the cold-eyed indifference that had become her last line of defence. Nicole had hated it, growing up, but she'd eventually understood why Kathleen had to do it, but this was _Aiden,_ he didn't deserve it.

And there, she was looking at him, directly, though there wasn't much recognisable about him. Head shaved and stitched back together, both hidden behind bandages. Tubes down his throat and nose, kept in place by soft tape. The face was bruised and swollen almost beyond recognition. He looked like he had been caught in the middle of a car crash, but he hadn't.

"Mom…" Nicole said.

Kathleen snapped her head around, but her expression softened the moment it touched Nicole. "What do you want me to say? What do you think happened? I don't care for the details. He got in trouble and he couldn't handle that trouble. That's how it's always been. And trust me, I wish to god it wasn't the case."

She shook her head and sucked in air as if she struggled to remember how to do it. "I don't know what I did wrong. But it must have been _something_ or we wouldn't be here, not you and me and not Aiden, either."

Nicole said nothing. It had never been much use to argue with her mother when she was in that mood, or perhaps in that place. Very distantly, Nicole recalled an incident with her father, she must have been very small and all she remembered were still images of a hospital and its awful smell and her mother's black mood.

Kathleen looked her son over, slowly, something was working behind her eyes and she clenched her teeth at it and blinked it away. She took a deep breath, more laboured perhaps than she was willing to admit, but Nicole wouldn't know where to begin if she wanted to argue about it.

"Come on," Kathleen said. "Let's see what the cop has to say."

Nicole trailed after her mother, reluctant to leave Aiden behind. It felt like abandoning him, like she had to chose sides between her brother and her mother. It had been so much easier in Belfast, when the choice had been obvious, and she had been too young to even realise it was being made. She didn't know how her mother had found the strength for it.

* * *

**April 2002_**

Aiden still looked badly battered on the day he faced the judge. His hair was still short and growing back unevenly where the scars were. The bruises had all healed, but he still sat at an odd angle and it took him a little bit longer to straighten once he stood up. To Nicole, it didn't look like he was ready to leave therapy and be thrown in prison, with all it entailed, but she'd bitten back on that comment.

At her side, her mother was silent and stiff as always, keeping her gaze fixed straight ahead, rarely looking directly at her son — or at Nicole herself for that matter.

Kathleen had refused to testify in any capacity, despite the urging of Aiden's attorney. It'd leave a good impression, he'd said, give him a chance to spin a more heart-wrenching story for the judge. Poor immigrant kid, never had a chance, got pulled under before he could get out. All he needed was a bit of leniency and a second chance, that sort of thing. Kathleen disagreed with a monosyllabic 'no' and no explanation whatsoever.

Challenged by Nicole later, she had looked her daughter over and said, "I was an enabler for your father for twenty years and it helped no one. I'm not going to do that to Aiden. He deserves better. He'll get my help when he's ready to do his part. And if it…"

And Kathleen had stuttered there, her voice cutting out. For just a second, her mask cracked and she had looked ready to cry. She'd shaken free of it, though, like a dog coming in from the rain and her expression had hardened again. "If it means I have to lose my son to that world, I'll just have to accept it."

Aiden and Kathleen hadn't been on very good terms even before the incident, but after he'd woken up in hospital, they had talked exactly once. And all Aiden had said was: 'Don't worry about the bill."

Telling, perhaps, giving Kathleen whatever final confirmation she thought she still needed for his criminal involvement. Nicole wasn't quite so sure, Aiden had never liked burdening his family with his problems, so even if he wasn't sitting on a pile of illegal money, that's exactly what he'd say and scrape by on his own somehow.

The trial was short, practiced, one in a hundred similar cases. The police had launched a wider investigation into Aiden's background when they failed to find anything useful on his assailants. All they'd found were a handful of discrepancies, a little more money than his work warranted, a few too many known criminals in his circle of friends, though all of it easily explained by growing up where he had. Even Nicole knew the odd convict, it didn't mean you got into it yourself.

The only damning thing was his laptop. He'd had it with him when he was attacked and the cops never ventured to give it back. Apparently, its encryption had been something of a challenge to the CPD's IT department, fuelling the police's interest. What they found on the machine eventually brought Aiden to court for nothing more serious than computer tampering.

To Nicole all of it were minor things. It painted the picture of a man skirting illegality, but usually keeping on the right side of things, doing the best he could with the hand he'd been dealt. It was how she described him from the witness stand. Playing the tough guy only because that's how he'd grown up, but he was caring underneath it all. Across the room, she had watched her mother's face as she spoke, but there wasn't even a twitch.

Throughout the trial, the judge had been hostile, foul-mouthed for a man of authority and making no secret out of just how little faith he had in Nicole's testimony or Aiden's own smooth and ready-made explanation for absolutely everything. He didn't believe it and the only misgiving he really had, it seemed, was that he couldn't slap Aiden down with a harsher sentence and had to content with the eleven months of a mere misdemeanour.

"I'm not going to put this in politically correct terms, Mr. Pearce, you are a man so deep in shit, I can smell it from here. Unfortunately, that does not constitute any form of evidence. I know you're not just some minor criminal who writes computer viruses as a hobby, I've seen enough of your type, more often than not in much the same beaten up state you're in. But, again, that's not evidence. However, not even your _own mother_ would stand up for you, what does that say about you? I'm under no illusion that jail-time will reform you in any way and it's beneath me to hope you'll encounter more sharks bigger than yourself. But I _will_ count every minute you're not out on the street as a victory for all honest Chicagoans. Now, get that waste of space out of my courtroom and behind bars where he belongs."

* * *

**April 2003_**

Tighe had just dropped his ass on the couch and switched on the TV when the doorbell rang. He looked up and cursed. The bell rang again, longer this time. Tighe sighed. Maybe Tyra was early? Not that he'd mind if his girl curled up in his lap while he watched sports, but that'd be a cold day in hell.

He went to the door and opened it, already half through the diatribe he was going to lop at whoever had disturbed him. Instead he choked on his own indrawn breath.

"Fuck Aiden," he gasped, covering his surprise, but the smile he put on his face was bewildered and tense. "I didn't think you were out already."

"Three weeks," Aiden said. "Hi, T. Can I come in?"

Tighe blinked, took his hand from the door and shuffled out of the way. "Sure, absolutely. I… how are you, man?"

Aiden strode past him and inside, Tighe lagging behind, still trying to sort his thoughts. He eventually managed to close the door and take a few more steps, standing awkwardly in his own apartment, at a loss of how to act.

Time behind bars didn't seem to have harmed Aiden in the least, if anything he looked a bit bulkier than Tighe remembered him, though he'd always been imposing. He had his hands tucked away in the pockets of a dark leather jacket, face shadowed by a baseball cap.

"Doing alright," Aiden said with a faint shrug. "Staying with a friend for now."

"Getting back into business?" Tighe asked and chopped his teeth down into his lower lip to shut himself up. It wasn't really a topic he was keen on, all things considered. "Uh, do you want a beer? Sit down, man."

"Never been _out_ of business," Aiden said, turned on his heel and faced Tighe. "No thanks, why don't _you_ sit down?"

Before he really realised what he was even doing, Tighe was halfway to his couch and by that point, he had too much momentum to stop without making things even more awkward. Turned out, sitting down meant Aiden just towered more. Just great.

"So…" Tighe started. "Something wrong?"

Aiden shrugged again. He walked in a small circle past the couch until he was right behind it. Momentarily out of Tighe's field of vision, the hair on the nape of his neck were standing on edge. He itched to get back to his feet and face him.

"Aiden?" he turned and began to get up, but Aiden dropped both his hands on his shoulder and pushed him back down and into the threadbare upholstery.

Without letting go of him, Aiden leaned down from behind and said, "You sold me out."

Tighe felt his eyes go wide, at the accusation and the low growl it was voiced in, he flinched under the heavy grip on his shoulders before he could muster any outrage.

"What?! No! Why would you think that?"

Without warning, Aiden let go of him and Tighe snapped his head around to at least _see_ him, though it wasn't a particularly reassuring sight. Aiden had put his hands into his pockets again. He stepped around the couch table, booted feet carefully manoeuvring around the heaps of unwashed clothes and old pizza cartons. He returned to the door reached out and picked the key from behind the potted plant there.

"Aiden!" Tighe sputtered. "I never did anything! We're friends, remember?"

Aiden made a noncommittal noise, locked the door from the inside, then turned back around to regard Tighe from beneath the shadow of the cap.

"I've had eleven months to think things through. You were one of the few people who knew where I was going to be the night I was attacked."

"I thought it was Dead Men Walking?" Tighe said. "Come on, they like me even less than they like you."

"That's because you're in debt with them," Aiden said. "Or you were. Word on the street is, Dead Men are leaving you be."

"Well, I paid up," Tighe huffed. "Is it that hard to believe?"

Aiden returned to him, faced him down and Tighe had had it with the intimidation tactic, one moment to the next. He _knew_ Aiden, knew him when he was still a scrawny fifteen year old with more guts than actual brawn to back it up. He wasn't just going to sit here and take it.

Tighe came off the couch, somewhat more sluggishly than he would have liked, but it was carried on cold-sweated indignation, leaning forward until they were face to face.

"Okay, Aiden, fuck this shit," he snarled. "You think I betrayed you? You want to be an asshole to your oldest friend, go right fucking ahead. I don't care. But get the fuck out before I kick your ass down the stairs! I…"

The worst part was, he _kind of_ saw the move coming, but there was just nothing he could do. Easy as you please, Aiden placed a hand on his chest, fingers spread wide and pushed until the back of his knees hit the edge of the couch and he buckled.

"Come on, man!" Tighe started, edging back and forth, but he didn't dare trying to get up again. Aiden was terrifying like that, face set in a perfectly hard mask. "After all these years?"

"You sold me out," Aiden said. "You told Drago what I was doing. Has to be you, everyone else checks out. No one's got anything to gain, except you."

"We're friends!" Tighe insisted, blood draining from his face. "Come on, since we were kids. We went to Marston together for the first time, remember?"

"Yeah," Aiden nodded. He turned on his heel, surveying the room, gauging the likelihood of Tighe making a run for some hidden weapon or other, trying the door because he'd forgotten it was locked. He kept himself firmly in the way.

Looking down on Tighe, Aiden said, "That's why I don't get it. If you had trouble with the Dead Men I could've helped. That's what I do, you know, fixing shit?"

Tighe frowned at the words. "Yeah," he growled. "Big bad fixer, you are. Never know if I can actually afford you, you know."

He settled a bit further into the couch, looked up at Aiden and tried to take a steadying breath. There was nothing to read in Aiden's face, nothing he could identify anyway and what he _did_ recognise wasn't pleasant. Aiden had made up his mind, perhaps months ago. Nothing about this was an accident, or spontaneous at all. And Tighe had never seen Aiden stop once he'd started.

Tighe rubbed his hand down his face, then wiped the cold sweat on the couch. "I'm sorry, man, really," Tighe forced through clenched teeth. "I didn't know it was… going to be like that. Drago said he'd only send a warning, not beat you half to death. That wasn't the deal."

"Hm," Aiden made. He pulled a bundle from his pocket.

"You know how they found me?" he asked conversationally. "The cops told me. I don't really remember much, probably a good thing. Seems I got dumped in the trash behind the station and that's where the garbage collectors found me. Doctor said I must have been out for several hours before that, much longer and I wouldn't have been bouncing back."

"Shit," Tighe wheezed, wide-eyed, attention caught between Aiden's immobile face and what he was doing with his hands. The small bundle unrolled to reveal injecting equipment. Tighe's gaze snapped up, stared at Aiden without blinking. "What the hell?"

"Well," Aiden said slowly, glanced up and briefly stopped his work. "You are going to OD."

Tighe shivered, caught between trying to jump from the couch and pressing himself deeper into it.

"What!? No! I'm good, I've been good for months! Everyone knows that!"

Aiden shrugged, got back to work. Picked up the syringe and fitted it with a needle.

"It was a bad relapse," he said.

"You are going to kill me!" Tighe's voice cut out.

"T," Aiden said soothingly. "You really shouldn't have done what you did. That was dumb."

Tighe wedged himself into the couch, watched Aiden move without blinking. His expression wavering between fear and desperate disbelief. His searching gaze fell on the door. Aiden had his hands full and might need a second longer to react. Tighe looked back to Aiden, looked at the door and his breathing stuttered. Shit, _shit._ Aiden had locked it, drawn the key. It'd take far too long to knock it open.

"But we're friends!" Tighe tried again. "I got you started in Chicago! When you were fresh from Ireland and everybody was laughing at your accent! That was _me!_ You owe me!"

"You sold me out to Drago," Aiden added. "I owe you nothing."

He sat back on the couch table, holding the spoon over the flame of his lighter. "Consider yourself lucky," he added. "I got you good stuff, none of that shit your suppliers always had in theirs."

"You can't… be _serious!"_ Tighe said, gaze glued to the little flame.

Aiden looked up. "What makes you think so?"

"Because you… because I know you! You know _me!_ We go back!"

Aiden shook his head. "You keep saying, but then I find out what that means for you. How much was your debt? Couple hundred dollars. And I got beaten up and tossed in the trash. I almost died. I could've been crippled. And I went to jail."

"Don't pin that on me!" Tighe demanded. "You went to jail because you had it coming!"

Aiden didn't answer, but while Tighe thought he saw the accusation connect, it wasn't anything he could cash in on.

"Why _me?"_ Tighe tried. He'd try everything at this point. There had to be _something,_ right? "What about Drago? His guys beat you up and dumped you! I didn't even want that!"

Aiden looked up, digging a cold gaze right through Tighe's skull. "Because I don't give a shit about Drago. He's an old gang-banger weeping for his glory days. He's just nursing ancient grudges because that's all he's got left. But _you_ , T, you I trusted."

"Fuck, man… what do you want to hear?"

Tighe watched Aiden draw up the injection and for some reason, only then it click through Tighe's brain that Aiden wasn't playing around, this wasn't a _scare tactic,_ this was the real thing. That needle was going to go in his arm and it was going to kill him. Tyra would come in later and find him and she'd think…

Tighe didn't try to go for the door. He'd never make it and Aiden was too strong and too fast to take on in a serious fight. If he wanted out of this, he had just one shot at it.

He went for the syringe, threw himself forward with all his weight, from a bad angle, driven forward by his own fear and adrenaline. It was a blind lunge and Tighe never knew if Aiden had always known he'd try or if his reflexes were just that fast.

Without dropping the syringe, Aiden brought up his left elbow, let Tighe run himself into it with all he had and left him to flounder for a moment. Aiden got to his feet and swirled around. He caught one of Tighe's wrists in his free hand, held it and twisted, turned Tighe to follow the angle of the arm. Tighe just went with it, gaze pinned on the syringe, held out of reach, but if he somehow got to it, if he got it into Aiden's skin instead…

Tighe didn't notice his feet were kicked away from under him until he was already falling. Aiden let go of his wrist for only a second, then gripped his upper arm instead and Tighe was lifted up and back down into the corner of the couch, one arm under him, keeping it pinned there by his own body.

Tighe just continued to struggle. He wasn't getting very far, but he could probably still ruin Aiden's neat little suicide setup. Get enough bruises and cops would ask questions. Get the needle into his arm at the wrong angle, that'd show up on someone's report, wouldn't it?

Aiden pressed his shoulder back down and kneeled over his thighs with one leg, holding Tighe's arm out and keeping the rest of his body almost entirely immobile.

Tighe couldn't see, Aiden's back was in the way. He tried to yank his arm free from under him, but it didn't work, only strained his muscles painfully. He waved his other arm, but Aiden's grip was too secure.

"No, please," Tighe pleaded. He was winded and his voice sounded pathetic. "Please, don't… don't kill me. I'm sorry, I didn't know what Drago would do. I'm … oh god, Aiden, _please…_ no no no _!"_

He felt the tip of the needle, tiny point of cold. His arm shook with the effort of trying to get away, but all he managed, in the end, was the needle plunging in harder. It hurt and it'd bruise, he thought, of course it'd bruise around the puncture mark. It'd look like he'd been shaking when he injected himself.

He felt the needle withdraw and let his body go limp.

Aiden climbed off him and stepped back, eyed him.

"Please," Tighe said slowly. "It's not too late."

"It's done," Aiden said. He set the syringe down by the rest of the equipment on the couch table. Tighe realised Aiden was wearing gloves, he hadn't really registered before. It should have, it wasn't nearly cold enough for gloves.

"You can still call 911," Tighe said. He tried to hold on to his panic, it seemed important a few moments ago, didn't it? Aiden was murdering him, he should do something about that. But his body felt warm and heavy, like it didn't matter if he got up now. He wasn't going to beat Aiden anyway. He wouldn't make it to the phone, or the door. No one in this house would give a shit even if he screamed his lungs out… probably wouldn't have enough air for that anyway.

"I'm sorry, Aiden," he said. He slipped lower on the couch as his body relaxed despite himself. "When I heard what happened… I… am…"

He sucked in a deep breath, but it felt like it didn't go all the way down. Aiden was still watching him and he felt the gaze like an actual weight.

"Fuck," Tighe moaned and let his head roll back on the back of the couch. "You sure that's what you want?"

He was falling asleep, his thoughts were jumbled, fleeting. So many things that seemed to matter were suddenly beyond his reach. There was something he wanted, though. He didn't want to die, not like this, not now… he was… he…

"I'm always sure."

Aiden's voice was like ice-water, it cut through Tighe's fading consciousness, as cruel as the needle had been. It seemed ridiculous to Tighe he'd thought he could talk himself out of it, plead and beg with someone who could say this to an old friend in such a voice.

* * *

Aiden crossed to the other side of he street and found the shadow of a entranceway to lean into. Right on schedule, Tyra appeared at the other end of the road, coming from the train station.

He watched her for a while, leaning deeper into the shadows as she got closer. She'd never met him personally, but it didn't mean she wouldn't recognise him, he'd been friends with Tighe for too long to be sure, some stray snapshot was all it might take.

He pulled his phone out and quickly dialled a number.

"Will? It's Pearce."

_"… Pearce, uh… hey."_

"How is work?"

_"Fine, fine, it's all fine."_

"Get along with your partner?"

_"We're good. There's no… uh… problem at all."_

"Glad to hear. Here's the thing, Will. There's something you could help me with."

_"Uh, sure, if I can."_

"You can, won't get you into trouble. I just learned that an old friend of mine OD'd."

_"Sorry to hear that. What do you want me to do?"_

"Can you take a look at it? Make sure things go smoothly? I know the family, they've got enough problems without having their whole lives unravelled over such a tragedy."

_"I can look into it."_

"I'm sure you'll get it resolved quickly. I'd consider it a personal favour."

_"That's… yeah, I'll get it sorted. Don't worry about it. The family won't be bothered."_

"Thanks, Will, I'll remember this."

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what heroin feels like and no interest to find out. I googled it, it should do.
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Revised on 31/May/2015, 24/Feb/2016, 29/Nov/2016 and 12/May/2017**


End file.
